


Flores Serpentis

by httpsruru



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Asexual Character, Basilisk - Freeform, First Love, Fluff, Hogwarts Chamber of Secrets, Horcruxes, Humor, M/M, Mild Angst, Multi, Out of Character, Romance, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Tom is still an ass, but he's kind of okay, drarry but only towards the very end and very briefly, he's really just an awkward teenager, i don't speak latin so the spells will probably make no sense, kind of, mentions of child abuse, purebloods being assholes, set in voldy's fifth year, so he isn't insane yet, tom is asexual but doesn't know yet, tom is very confused, voldemort doesn't exist yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24528331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/httpsruru/pseuds/httpsruru
Summary: It's Tom Riddle's fifth year at Hogwarts, and between trying to balance his classes, staying as far away from Dumbledore as possible, and gathering followers in hopes of taking over the Ministry in the future, he does not need the mysterious snake-like flowers appearing on his pillow every morning. He also really doesn't need the Head Boy, Dorian Beaufils, showing up wherever he is, because honestly, it's quite annoying.And what's even more angering, is that it's also quite endearing.No matter that Beaufils' eyes are so eerily similar to those of the monster residing in the Chamber.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Tom Riddle/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 21





	1. 1 - Eyes of A Serpent

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear friends<3  
> This was supposed to be a one-shot that turned into a WIP instead. Updating will probably be inconsistent as this is my first time writing in the HP fandom and I want to make sure everything is alright. Or, okay-ish at least haha
> 
> That being said, I do hope you will enjoy this journey. <3
> 
> please sign the following petitions as a way to show support to everything that's been happening in the world.<3
> 
> https://www.change.org/p/andy-beshear-justice-for-breonna-taylor?source_location=topic_page
> 
> https://www.change.org/p/nypd-fire-racist-criminal-michael-j-reynolds-from-the-nypd?source_location=topic_page
> 
> https://www.change.org/p/la-county-fire-lapd-chief-michael-moore?source_location=topic_page

_ 1. _

  
  


The soft clinking of the leather boots echoed off the walls hugging the cold, dark corridors. Tom Riddle held his lamp in front of him, the dim light hurting his eyes as he squinted around it. It was well over curfew, the clocks just brushing past two in the morning, but Tom was restless. He could feel the itch of his palms, desperate to get his hands on that book again, just as he'd done for the past five years. 

_ Salazar Slytherin: The Secrets and Downfall of the Greatest Serpent _ . Tom didn’t even remember how he’d stumbled upon the seemingly rather dark script at the end of his first year. He had merely been searching for some light reading — granted, perhaps the restricted section of the library hadn’t been the best location of said searching, but Tom had never been one to discriminate when it came to books. He liked absorbing in as much information as possible, eating up the rows of elegantly and not so elegantly written knowledge that the books in the library of Hogwarts provided. He had never intended to — not literally, of course —, trip over the work that discussed the Founder of his house, but alas, he figured nothing wrong could come of reading yet another restricted codex. It wasn’t as if it had been his first time snooping around where he normally wouldn’t be allowed to, anyway. It wasn’t his fault that Ms Picklewood absolutely adored him, and was very lenient with the texts Tom borrowed, as long as he flashed her one or two charming smiles and listened to her rant about the gamekeeper for a short while. Sometimes, Tom found, acting could do wonders. With a soft whisper of  _ Alohomora _ he swiftly opened the locked door of the library and slipped in unnoticed. He thought he’d heard the prefects roaming around, but that already had been a few minutes ago, and so he deemed the coast to be clear. 

Despite Headmaster Dippet always going on and on about the safety wards surrounding Hogwarts and some of the school’s rooms, including the restricted section of the very impressive library, Tom found himself able to unlock the barred doors with ease every time he tried. It didn’t seem like a big deal, but then again it might have also been simply the fact that Tom was a more powerful wizard than his peers. Perhaps that was the reason why Dumbledore, the old long-bearded fool always looked at him as if he were a serial killer. 

Tom hadn’t killed anyone, though. Not yet, anyway. 

Cautiously stepping over the threshold that led to his favorite place on this sorry Earth, Tom took a deep breath. The scent of old book pages infiltrated his nose, spreading through his airways and sending calming waves to his lungs. The familiar feeling of comfort seeped inside him, touching the very core of him and he suddenly relaxed, having been unaware of the previous tense posture of his shoulders. He didn’t like being upset about things, for he thought it was weakness, but he still did it unconsciously sometimes. 

Hissing a quiet  _ ‘Carpe Retractum’ _ , Tom watched the orange light pull the book towards him harshly. He let it hit his chest with a dull thud before he let a gentle smile that, he would never admit to, grace his face and sat down onto the harsh floor, propping his back against the heavy shelves and setting his lamp next to him. Extending his legs, he carefully placed the book on his lap, quickly casting a Lumos and opening it on the 116th page, where the family tree of Salazar Slytherin was burned into the pages. Tom had already memorized the whole line, yet he still couldn’t help himself but run his fingers over it one more time, his trembling finger stopping right on his own name. The letters glowed in a pale green colour, mixing with the blue light emitting from Tom’s wand. He smirked, letting the green die out after a few moments as he smoothly turned the page to approximately the middle of the thick book, stopping at page 505. He looked at the title of the chapter, his heart rate picking up as his eyes drunk in the letters. 

_ The Chamber of Secrets. _

He sucked in a deep breath, staring at the blankness below the title and with a determined sigh, began hissing, _ “Show yourself to me, oh sacred script of the Great One.” _

The rough paper started glowing gently, elegant lettering and vivid images of serpent monstrosities showing up one by one. Granted, it had been more fascinating the first time Tom had discovered his gift and ancestry, but that did not make it any less exciting to him. He could finally wash off the filth of his disgusting muggle father, start his life anew, as powerful as he had always wanted to be. There was nothing that could stop him. 

Well, nothing but the fact that he didn’t actually quite know where the chamber was located. 

That would be rectified soon enough, though, he mused as he scanned through the pages once again, not noticing anything out of the ordinary once again. He huffed a frustrated breath, biting down on his lower lip as he flipped through a few more pages to the end of the chapter. He frowned, swiping a finger over the edge of page 517, feeling as if it were a bit thicker than the others. With his heart beating heavily in his chest, Tom murmured a quiet  _ ‘Dejugo’ _ and watched in wonder as the pages fluttered for a fraction of a second, seeming as if they wanted to detach from each other, but ultimately remained stuck together. Tom let out a silent growl from the back of his throat and slammed the book shut, deciding to break the rules for once. 

Getting up from the floor, he patted his trousers down gently in order to get rid of whatever dirt that got stuck onto his robes. Picking up his lamp from the ground and dimming it further, he slid the book under his armpit, covered comfortably by the robes. Carefully shutting the door behind himself and locking it back as he found it, he started making his way down to the dungeons, listening to anything out of the ordinary. 

Naturally, sleep didn’t come easy that night. 

* * *

The next day found Tom Riddle in the library yet again, however, not with a spellbook on Dark Arts for a change. It was Saturday, the sun beaming through the soft drapes of the magnificent windows of the library basked everyone in gentle sunlight, making everything seem more subdued and relaxed, and Tom was trying to shield himself from the unnerving rays. He had chosen to sit down at a more secluded table, but the shiny star still seemed to be able to extend its arms and brush against his back. It was safe to say he was more than mildly annoyed. 

He stared at the two quills that he had bind together with the strongest sticking charm he knew, one that he had previously learned from one of his beloved Dark books. Logically speaking, he knew he’d have to try at least one dark spell to unstick the two, however he opted for staying on the light side for starters. Whilst he was in the library under watchful eyes, at least. 

He huffed, dropping the quills and glaring at the textbook in front of him. Nothing he’d tried had worked, and he was getting quite restless if he was being honest, finding it harder and harder to contain his anger. He absolutely hated seeming anything less than composed. It was almost worse than getting hit on by stupid mudbloods. Ears — figuratively —, perking up at the whispered argument from the table on the opposite side of his, Tom lifted his bored but cold gaze only to find Beaufils and Malfoy in what seemed to be a heated exchange of words. He smirked, shaking his head softly and sighed. Those two were always at each other’s throats. Which was pathetic, really, considering the fact that Beaufils was the Head Boy of the year. Tom never understood how a  _ Slytherin _ could let himself show as much emotion as his older housemate constantly did, but he supposed at the end of the day it wasn’t really his business. It wasn’t as if he had ever had a normal conversation with Beaufils, other than asking each other to pass the salt over dinner in the Great Hall. It had been like that for the totality of the five years Tom had spent at Hogwarts. He let his eyes rake over the slender body of the tall fellow Slytherin, watching as he crossed his arms in front of him. Upon dragging his glance up to the Headboy’s face, he noticed the scowl that accompanied the guarded stance he bore.  _ Curious, _ Tom thought absorbing in the murderous glare directed at Abraxas Malfoy,  _ very curious indeed.  _

Dorian Beaufils was surely a sight to behold, Tom had to give him at least that. A total disgrace to their House, but he certainly made up with good looks in areas he otherwise lacked. Severely lacked. A few stray locks of soft, ebony hair fell into his eyes, the contrast bright against his pale skin, green, almost serpent-like eyes boring into the smaller boy in front of him. Tom was sure that Beaufils had done something to his eyes, for no human’s eyes should look like that. The emerald-colored orbs hosted slit-like pupils, much like one would find upon looking into a snake’s eyes. Tom supposed it  _ was _ fitting, after all Beaufils was a Slytherin, as much as he disliked that fact. 

A soft tap on his shoulder tore Tom out of his musings, and he turned around sharply, his lips curling into a deep sneer. The girl standing behind him was at least a head shorter than him, had big, brown doe eyes and a nervous facial expression. Her hands were clutching something that seemed like a letter, and Tom groaned inwardly. Nonetheless, he cocked a questioning brow, looking down at her with disdain written clearly on his face. His eyes slid lower and zeroed in on the yellow tie, a sound threatening to escape his mouth. A  _ bloody  _ Hufflepuff. 

“H-hey, Tom,” she stammered clumsily, the blush deepening on her cheeks. She seemed like a total stampcrab. “This is for you,” she sputtered, thrusting the parchment forward, her hand almost colliding with Tom’s chest.  _ Merlin’s fucking saggy balls, _ Tom seethed silently in his mind. 

“What is it?” he asked coldly, gracefully smoothing out the crumpled piece of parchment, not wanting to look down at it for as long as he could postpone it. He didn’t even know the girl’s name, for Circe’s sake! 

“It’s, uh…” she trailed off for a moment, “could you just read it? Please?” she glanced up, biting down on her lower lip. It was a truly atrocious sight, and Tom wondered why he even bothered to talk to people he didn’t know. Seeing that the girl had no intentions of moving, he let out a resigned sigh and cast down his eyes at the paper, beginning to read with furrowed eyebrows. If nothing else, maybe he could get a good laugh out of it.

_ “ _ _ How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. _

_ I love thee to the depth and breadth and height _

_ My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight _

_ For the ends of being and ideal grace. _

_ I love thee to the level of every day’s _

_ Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. _

_ I love thee freely, as men strive for right. _

_ I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. _

_ I love thee with the passion put to use _

_ In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. _

_ I love thee with a love I seemed to lose _

_ With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, _

_ Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, _

_ I shall but love thee better after death.”* _

Tom stared down at the paper with a horrified facial expression, dread settling into his stomach and a bile rising in his throat. He felt positively sick upon seeing the words, his hands starting to shake ever so slightly as the soft drapes swished gently in the library, his magic reaching out to them in his distressed state.

“What is this?” he gritted out, his voice deadly calm. The Hufflepuff didn’t seem to notice, though, as a wide smile spread across her face and she started bouncing on her heels. 

“Oh! It’s a muggle poem, written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning back in the 1800s. Fascinating, isn’t it?” she inquired, her eyes gleaming. “I thought it would convey my feelings towards you far better than any letter I could have written,” she added, a shy smile gracing her lips. Tom wanted to  _ murder _ someone. Not only was the wretched witch a Hufflepuff, she was also a mudblood.  _ Sweet Merlin. _

“Your feelings towards me?” he asked, glaring at the petite girl in front of him while clutching the letter tightly into his fists. 

“Well, yes,” she seemed to falter a bit, but quickly composed herself. “I was wondering if you would like to go with me on a date on the next Hogsmeade weekend?” she asked, a hopeful glint, that Tom couldn’t wait to kill, in her eyes. 

“Absolutely  _ not, _ ” he growled, tearing the parchment into pieces and thrusting them into her hand. “Run along, you filthy little _ mudblood. _ Stop pestering me with you childish fantasies,” he spat, watching as the girl’s eyes became wet with unshed tears. She stammered, incoherent sounds coming out of her mouth for a few seconds before turning sharply on her heels and fleeing from the library. Tom trailed her steps with disgust in his eyes, waiting for his hands to finally stop shaking and for the anger to subdue. He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Hearing a chuckle behind him, he whipped around and found himself staring right into Beaufils’ peculiar eyes. The flame of his anger lit up again, with another feeling shimmering in his stomach; one that he didn’t bother to decipher what meant. 

“Quite the show there, Riddle,” he said, his lips quirked into an amused smirk. “I take it mudblood Hufflepuffs aren’t your type. Interesting,” he drawled, propping himself against the table Tom was now standing next to, his backside barely missing the sprawled out book on the desk. Tom cringed inwardly. 

“None of your business, Beaufils,” he murmured coldly, slamming the book shut in a swift motion. Beaufils tutted. 

“Now, now, no need to get defensive,” Beaufils said with a grin, tilting his head to the side, this deep-emerald eyes slicing through Tom’s soul. It was unnerving, to say the least. Tom did not like to be looked at as if he were to be on the dinner table that night in the Great Hall. 

“What do you want, Beaufils?” Tom sighed, picking up the book and slowly running his fingers up and down the spine of it. “Do you perhaps wish to take points from me because of the way I spoke?” he sneered, returning the other boy’s heated glance. Why the absolute hell was Beaufils looking at him like that? Tom felt a chill run down his spine as Dorian blinked slowly, making his sneer disappear.

“Far be it from me to do such thing, Riddle,” the raven-haired boy said at last, after a few agonizing seconds of silence that felt like years to Tom. “I’m a bit biased when it comes to my little snakes, you see,” he said, his eyes shining with humor. Malfoy let out a not-so-elegant snort, shaking his head, and despite seeming amused, his eyes stayed the same cold glare, directed solely towards Beaufils. Tom never liked meddling with things that really were none of his business, however he could feel the curiosity as to what happened between the two of his fellow housemates eat away at his stomach. Not that he’d ever outright ask, of course. 

“Good,” Tom concluded, awkwardness sneaking up his back like a slithering snake. In fact, the feeling was a bit  _ too  _ real, and Tom paled. 

He felt the little forky tongue before the rest of his companion, and he heaved a frustrated sigh at the way Beaufils comically lifted one of his eyebrows, his eyes zeroed in on Tom’s neck.

“Riddle?” Beaufils began slowly, “fancy telling me why on Earth there is a snake around your neck?” he asked, staring at the creature resting against Tom with a strange glint in his eyes. 

“Why, of course,” he offered, lifting his hand and softly sliding a finger across the milky white scales. “Her name is Nǚwā.”

“And why, pray tell, do you have a pet that is not allowed as per Hogwarts’ regulations?” the Head Boy hissed, his eyes narrowing into menacing slits. Tom wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to quiver or laugh. Beaufils looked downright pathetic, not dangerous at all, despite the hard edge to his voice. 

“I found her just outside the forest," Tom said, lovingly caressing the scales under the snake's neck. “I couldn’t leave her there, helpless, now, could I?” he drawled dryly, allowing the creature to slither back under his robes. Dorian couldn’t do much other than gape silently at him, his baffled facial expression almost sending Tom into a fit of chuckles. Almost, because everyone knew he never laughed unless it was about dead bodies or mudbloods getting mauled. 

“Right,” Beaufils concluded after a while. “I’ll just keep my mouth shut. Can’t possibly argue with saving a fellow snake,” he said cheerily. 

Tom Riddle merely rolled his eyes before picking up his book and turning sharply as he made his way out of the library. 

Beaufils stared after him with such look of longing, Abraxas Malfoy was afraid he would puke all over the floor in an instant. With a scowl, he voiced his opinion, “You’re smitten.”

“Riddle,” Dorian mused, deliberately ignoring his friend who he’d been fighting with just a few minutes beforehand. “Larger-than-life, the lad is, isn’t he?”

“You’re simpering, you idiot.”

“He’s enchanting, really,” Dorian continued.

“Do kindly shut _up,_ Beaufils.”

“Positively out of this world,” he fought a smile, sighing softly.

“I am going to stick my wand up your arse and cast an Unforgivable.”

“Ethereal, honestly,” Dorian breathed.

Malfoy scowled and shook his head, wondering how he’d stay sane long enough to finish his schooling with friends like Dorian Beaufils. 


	2. 2 - Mysterious Flower

_ 2. _

Tom Riddle spent the following couple of weeks trying out several detaching charms on the two pages of his ancestor’s book, however, to no avail. He hadn’t put much hope in Light spells from the get-go, but the results were still awfully disappointing. The only positive thing he could find about his unfortunate situation was the fact that no one seemed to be missing the big, green book stocked away carefully in his trunk under a bunch of strong protective runes. He decided that he really must retort to using Dark Magic again, given the fact that nothing too legal worked. He had been getting exponentially more annoyed as the days went by, and he really could not afford losing his temper again like that afternoon scene in the library with Beaufils a fortnight ago. It simply wasn’t healthy for his reputation. 

That night, though, he tried to put all of that in the very back of his mind. His prefect duties were far more important than the chamber, no matter how badly he wanted to just finally open it. He was far more interested in just what the monster residing there was than he would ever bother to admit out loud, however, he knew that he had to lie low. Dumbledore had taken to watching him closely again, making sure he did not go overboard with anything. Tom thought the old fool ought to charm his glasses into a better version, for he didn’t see the things that were right in front of him. No matter how unnerving the attention was, Tom vowed not to let his mask slip from its place. He had to be very careful. 

Stepping into the seventh corridor, he immediately heard muffled noises coming from a bit farther away. He furrowed his eyebrows, put out his lamp and picked up his pace as he curled his fingers around his wand. He cast a silent, dim Lumos and upon nearing the portrait of Brutus Scrimgeour he noticed two dark figures right away. He couldn’t really point out where one started and the other ended, but he did not need to do that in order to realize that the two were up to something that really should not happen on a school corridor. He sent a silent stinging hex towards one of them, making the pair jump back, tearing themselves away from each other. Tom was mortified upon seeing that one of them had actually been kneeling in front of the other and —  _ oh sweet Merlin. _ He recognized Beaufils as the one standing, and a bile raised in his throat. Why couldn’t he just have one peaceful night?  _ One. _

He was decent enough to put out the light emitting from his wand before starting to speak. “If you could tidy yourselves up, that would be greatly appreciated.”

He heard them fumbling around for a few long moments before he decided they must be decent enough and cast another Lumos, glaring at the pair standing in front of him. He recognized the other boy as a seventh-year Ravenclaw, Michael Hurley. A half-blood. Of fucking course Beaufils was getting it on with a half-blood.    
“I hope you do realize this was highly inappropriate, and I ask you to refrain from doing such things the next time you’re over-ridden by your neanderthal needs,” he scowled. “Beaufils, you are Head Boy. You should have known better,” he hissed at him menacingly, anger flaring up in him at the amusement in his housemate’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Riddle. You know how it is with boys and their hormones,” the raven-haired boy answered, tongue in cheek. Tom didn’t correct him that he, in fact did  _ not _ know about boys and their hormones because  _ his _ never made him act like an animal. 

“I trust you won’t go to Dippet with this, though, right?” Michael chimed in, a genuinely terrified expression on his face. Tom’s lips curled up into an evil smile.    
“Why, I won’t, Hurley,” he drawled, enjoying the way the older boy squirmed under his gaze. “I will, however, take 70 points from Ravenclaw,” he added after a few moments of not-so-careful consideration. He almost barked a laugh at the way a vein popped on Hurley’s forehead. 

“What? Seventy? Riddle, that’s abuse of power,” he frowned. 

“It’s either this, or going to Dippet,” Tom shrugged, the light wavering with his movement. 

“Oh, God, fine,” the Ravenclaw snapped. “But I demand you take points from Slytherin as well,” he said, sticking his chin out, making Tom simply raise his eyebrows.    
“And what, pray tell, made you think I’d take points from my own house? Humor me,” he rolled his eyes. “I trust you two can find your way to your respective rooms without running into me again, yes?” 

Turning sharply on his heels, he simply walked away, ignoring Hurley’s idiotic spluttering. 

  
  


The next morning, Riddle woke up groggily to his wand’s vibration against his hand that was stuck beneath his pillow, his fingers curled around the yew wood. He opened his eyes with a yawn, wincing at the sharp sting behind his eyes. He should have never did his rounds until after three in the morning. Rolling on his side, he groaned as he buried his face into his pillow, something cold pressing against his cheek. He cracked an eye open, his vision filling with an intriguing shade of pinkish violet. He slowly sat up, examining the flower resting on his pillow. Faint rose-colored squares covered the purple petals, the flower head curling as if a head hung low. Tom picked it up and frowned; who in sweet Salazar’s name would be sending him flowers? He glanced around the room quickly, noticing that his roommates were still fast asleep. His frown deepened; so it wasn’t them trying to play a mean prank on him.

Not that he truly believed anyone in Slytherin would be stupid enough as to try to pull his leg. He had already proved himself; no one in their right mind would try to mess with him. So, what was this? He twirled the delicate plant between his fingers and brought it to his nose, sniffing it. The faint, but pleasant smell invaded his senses, making him jerk the flower away from his face with a disgusted facial expression. Grabbing his wand he cast a quick incendio on the innocent flower, watching it burn to ashes and whisk away. He shrugged, getting out of bed and walking towards the bathroom. 

An hour later, he was seated at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall together with the other early risers. He had just been munching on a croissant when he felt a tap on his right shoulder. He tensed, dropping his breakfast and turning around with a scowl. His gloomy expression turned blank the moment he was met with deep green serpent-like eyes. Beaufils. Of course he couldn’t just stop at causing Tom problems at the crack of dawn, no, he had to go out of his way to make his breakfast miserable too. Merlin. 

The older boy cleared his throat before addressing him,” Riddle? May I have a word with you please?”

“You are having a word right now,” he grumbled, but alas focused all of his attention on the raven-haired student. “Yes, Beaufils? What is it?”

“About last night…” he trailed off. Riddle felt all the blood drain from his face, he was sure he looked like the ghosts roaming Hogwarts’ corridors. Images of Beaufils’ latest escapade flashed before his eyes, making his stomach churn with nausea. 

“Please, don’t make me relive that again,” he said in disgust. “It was bad enough once. In fact, you should Obliviate me,” he said, realization dawning upon him. Yes, being obliviated should fix all of his problems! Beaufils barked a laugh that left Tom staring at him in disbelief. 

“I’m not sure that obliviating you would be legal, though, so I am not too keen on doing that, you see,” he smiled wryly. “I did want to apologize, it was not my intention for you to see that. We should have been more careful, and I’m sorry if it caused you any discomfort,” he said, voice holding a sincere twinge of regret to it, however, Tom did not believe he was all that filled with remorse. Beaufils’ eyes held a type of hope to them that the black-haired boy couldn’t quite place. It didn’t sit well with him. 

He nodded awkwardly, “Alright, Beaufils. Let’s pretend it never happened, for both of our sakes, really. “ 

He didn’t like the smirk crossing Beaufils’ face. 

“So, how come you only took points from the Ravenclaw? Did you, by any chance,” he drawled, “like what you saw?” 

Tom broke out in cold sweat, the tell-tale anxiety creeping up his back. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat, the previous blank look etched onto his face turning into a murderous glare. His fingers instinctively curled around his wand, however, being aware of the place they were in, he didn’t take it out. Forcing himself to stay calm and calculated, he simply rose from his seat and ignoring the baffled Slytherin, he hurriedly made his way out of the Great Hall; his croissant all but forgotten. 

It being a Saturday, Tom had a lot of time to brood by himself. He knew that hypothetically speaking, he had nothing to feel bad about, as he was not the one who had been caught in an indecent posture by a prefect; but that still didn’t make him feel any better. Beaufils’ question rang throughout his mind all day, seeping into his ears like ugly, thick poison. Was he supposed to like what he had seen? Was he supposed to be… Aroused by it? Truthfully speaking, Tom couldn’t seem to remember being interested in anything like that att all up to that point in his life. Of course, he had the occasional randy dream like every other almost-sixteen-years-old boy, but the thought of him being intimate like that with someone else was extremely appalling to him. He didn’t know what the reason was; the only thing he was certain of was that he could not think of a person he would willingly have sex with even if someone threatened to Avada him. And he was very scared of death.

He supposed Beaufils was attractive enough, or even Dorothea Eliade, a fellow fifth-year Slytherin who kept glancing at him in Arithmancy lessons. The problem was, neither were attractive enough for Tom to have sexually filled thoughts of them. Was he some kind of freak because of that? For Merlin’s sake, apparently, all fifteen year old boys wanted to have sex; all, but him. What was wrong with him? 

Gulping yet again, he slid the curtains of his bed shut and performing a few locking and silencing spells he definitely was not supposed to know yet, he dragged the big green book from his trunk along with an ancient book called  _ Advanced Spells for the Bright-minded Youth.  _ Trying to get his mind off of his malicious thoughts that kept screaming at him from within the depth of the darkest corners of his conscious, he decided to try to detach the two mystery pages yet again. He hadn’t found a spell that really  _ did _ work, yet, but he hoped that the new book would give him at least some pointers. After flipping through the pages for a few minutes, his eyes caught a spell that looked promising. Taking a deep breath, he opened Salazar’s book on the familiar page and picked up his wand from next to his thigh. 

“ _ Glutenium contrarium, _ ” he said sternly, flicking his wand twice, but nothing happened other than the papers fluttering a bit. He huffed, swore and then tried again and again, trying to mean it more than the previous time. It went on like that for a while, with the pages struggling but never quite detaching themselves from each other and Tom becoming increasingly more annoyed. Throwing his wand down onto the mattress, he stared at the pages in utter annoyance. “ _ Show me the secret _ ,” he hissed in Parseltongue. 

He didn’t hold much hope, but upon seeing them flutter yet again, he let out a sly smile. Of course. Of fucking course Salazar Slytherin would make it so that only the true heir could find out whatever it was about the chamber that he didn’t want anyone else to know. Tom could hit himself for not realizing sooner. Still, how was he supposed to go about this? Maybe cater to his ancestor’s ego? He scoffed, shaking his head and grumbling to himself, ultimately deciding that it was his best shot if he wanted to open the Chamber of Secrets that year. He had little to no time to waste, after all.

_ “Show me the secret hidden on those pages, Greatest of the Founders.” _

Nothing. He furrowed his eyebrows, massaging his temples for a few seconds before setting the book down on his lap. Running through the usual ritual, Tom slowly lifted an eyebrow, his facial expression smoothening out as he sucked his lower lip into his mouth, gently gnawing on it. 

What if?

Carefully, he started hissing in an almost-whisper,  _ “Show yourself to me, oh sacred script of the Great One.” _

Soon enough, light started emitting from in between the pages and Tom’s breath hitched. A few moments later there they were, the two pages filled with elegant handwriting. He couldn’t help but grin, feeling somewhat proud of himself. There it was, the fruit of his tireless research and sleepless nights. His fingers moved across the pages in a gentle caress, his skin tingling with the underlying magic. There they were, the instructions written in deep black ink, almost glowing against the fair parchment. His eyes skimming over the inscriptions, Tom snorted upon seeing the location the chamber was supposed to be accessed from. The girls’ lavatory on the second floor. Once he had finished reading over the instructions again, he bit down on his lower lip. It didn’t seem too hard. The tap engraved with a snake, a drop of the blood of the true heir of Slytherin and a hissed ‘Open’. Shouldn’t be too difficult, but what if it went wrong? What if Tom messed it all up and set free a curse that would kill them all? 

He shook his head firmly; he hadn’t even read the next page. Surely, his ancestor wouldn’t leave him without telling the clear repercussions of butchering the task up. He turned out to be wrong, because upon reading the next few paragraphs, it seemed as if Salazar Slytherin had done exactly just that. The first half of the page was made up of blabberings about what the chamber’s purpose was, and the other half talked about the monster residing there. The second half caught Tom’s attention more as he drank in the words etched across the paper. The monster, which was a majestic basilisk — although the boy didn’t exactly know what that creature was supposed to be —, was supposed to listen to Tom’s commands, and his only. It said crystal clear that he would be the only one able to handle the monstrosity. A weird feeling of warm coziness surged through his veins at the notion of having something of his own for once, something that belonged solely to him, and Tom found it curious. He shook it off, too excited to dwell on it too much. He would finally be able to open the chamber tonight! 

Memorising the words, he shut both books and put them away in his trunk, setting the usual spells and charms in place. He knew he would have to wait until dark had settled in, and so he still had a few more hours to kill. Feeling far too jittery to just stay put, he grabbed his Slytherin sweater, scarf and his snake, Nǚwā and set off towards the Black Lake. The weather was a bit chilly, but not overly so, given it was the middle of November. Tom enjoyed the light breeze on his skin, it was not too cold or too hot, just pleasant enough. His little snake did not seem to enjoy the weather much, though, and but Tom couldn’t bring himself to scold her. It felt rather nice actually, her curling around his wrist as he cradled his arm closer to his body to provide her warmth. It felt good to be depended on. Tom wondered if it was going to be the same with the basilisk, too. He sighed, eventually stopping on the grass near the lake. 

The water seemed to be undisturbed, the color of it deep-blue as ever. There wasn’t any movement from within and Tom frowned, secretly wishing he could see the giant squid. He had seen it once, back when he was in second year but the animal hadn’t made an appearance since then. Had he not seen it with his own eyes years beforehand, he would be sure it didn’t even exist and was only a legend circling around school. 

Casting a Cushioning and a Warming charm, he plopped down onto the now comfortable grass and sighed contentedly. Nǚwā slithered up to his neck, nuzzling his jaw with her tiny head. Tom let out an involuntary smile and promptly wiped it right off after realizing he was indeed, grinning. 

“So did you find out about that chamber you have been rambling about, hatchling?” she hissed, her forky tongue tickling the boy’s face. He scowled at being called hatchling — he didn’t need a snake mothering him! 

“Yes, Nǚwā, I did. I am going to open it tonight,” he told her, idly running his fingers over her scales. She made a little noise of contentment, although Tom was not entirely sure snakes were even supposed to make noises, and so decided to ignore it. 

“Will you take me with you, hatchling?” she asked, making Tom frown deeply. There was supposed to be an enormous monster in the chamber, one that only Tom could control and there was no telling how the beast would react to his snake companion, even though basilisks were snake-like creatures too. 

“No, I won't,” he said eventually. “It would be far too dangerous for you. You can snuggle up under my blankets while I sort out my business.”

“Dangerous? You never said anything about it being dangerous!” she hissed angrily, tightening around his neck a bit, like a heavy necklace. Tom scowled and pried her away from his skin, holding her out in front of him with a serious facial expression. 

“Nǚwā, stop acting like a child that doesn’t get its way,” he gritted out, glaring at his pet. “For  _ me, _ it’s not dangerous. However, there is something in that chamber which would be dangerous for  _ you.  _ I am not going to risk it,” he mumbled angrily, shaking his head at her. He was sure that if snakes could huff, she would. 

“Fine, do it your way,” she snapped, and slithered back up around his neck, though not settling as tightly as before. He sighed and rolled his eyes, continuing to watch the lake. 

The calm serenity of it all was disturbed by another presence a few minutes later. Tom heard the steps before he saw the person, but he started scowling nonetheless. Why couldn’t anyone just leave him be? But of course it wasn’t just anyone, it had to be Beaufils yet again. They had talked that morning and that left Tom with a deep sense of mortification, thus resulting in him not wanting to see his fellow housemate ever again. 

“Hey, Riddle,” the raven-haired boy said, a dreamy-like edge to his voice. “May I sit?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to bother me regardless of what I said,” Tom drawled as the older boy plopped down next to him. “So what is it this time?” he lifted an eyebrow questioningly. 

“Just… Came to apologize. Again,” he said, sucking his lower lip in between his teeth. “You seemed put out this morning by my teasing. I only wanted to tell you that it was not my intention to make you uncomfortable. I know that relationships, of any kind that goes beyond friendship, between two wizards are still an issue in our world,” he sighed. Tom furrowed his eyebrows. He had heard plenty of homophobic slurs at the orphanage, but had had no idea what the general opinion about homosexual relationships were in the wizarding world. 

“Quite alright, Beaufils,” he conceded. “I don’t have anything against wizards who like wizards. I just wish you wouldn’t have made your private relations my business too by taking care of it right in the middle of the corridor,” he grumbled out. 

“It was not in the middle of the corridor, Riddle. It was a pretty good hiding spot, your ears are just freakishly good and you heard it,” Beaufils said with a smirk, even having the audacity to flick Tom’s ear! The nerve of some people. 

“Well, maybe if that good-for-nothing Ravenclaw just shut his mouth, I would not have heard anything I wasn’t supposed to hear!” he fumed. “Again, not my fault that you two have neanderthalic characteristics,” he puffed, earning a chuckle from the other boy. 

“Well, I know for a fact he is good for  _ something, _ ” he winked. 

“Sod off, Beaufils,” Tom groaned, the tell-tale nausea settling into his stomach again. Unwanted images of the previous night assaulted his mind and he scoffed. Merlin’s balls, he was sure that someone had cursed him. “What are you still doing here anyway? You already apologized,” he said, just now noticing that the raven-haired boy’s pupils seemed even more snake-like now than ever before, the whites of his eyes having a red tinge to them. He did not look well at all, in fact he rather looked like someone whose place was in the Hospital Wing. 

“Next weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend. Would you like to come with me?” he said, cocking his head to one side. He resembled a puppy, although admittedly he was not as cute as one. 

“No,” Tom answered simply, ignoring Nǚwā tightening her hold around his neck. What in the world was her problem? 

“What do you mean  _ no? _ ” Beaufils said, sounding baffled. Tom glared at him and promptly got up, not wanting to subject himself to such idiotic things. 

“Exactly just what the word ‘no’ means, Beaufils,” he snickered, toying with the end of his Slytherin scarf. “I know what such actions would imply, therefore my answer is negative. I would not want a jealous Ravenclaw on my arse just because he thinks I am on a date with his beau,” he quirked an eyebrow and left the fellow Slytherin boy staring at him with his mouth agape. 

Circe’s tits, Beaufils was sure Riddle would kill him before the year ended. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> * How Do I Love Thee, poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.


End file.
